Page 87 of Lovely Darkness

“Well. I might be living inside my own personal delusion right at this moment, but if Carter Couture wants me to ‘look this way’, I will mostly certainly ‘look that way’ instead.”

“So. Rebellious.”

“Yep. That’s me. The little rebel.”

“You’re going to find things, Indie. Upsetting things. Things you’d rather not know.”

“Yep. Probably.”

“Why put yourself through that? There’s no reason. You can live a long, happy life just the way things are. You and Nathan. That’s what you always wanted, right? And look, here he is. I brought him to you.”

I scoff. “You didn’t bring him. He came of his own accord.”

“I brought everyone. It’s funny, really. How you never give me any credit. It’s always McKay. Or Donovan. Or Nathan. But me? You treat me like Adam.”

“How do you figure?”

“You love him, but you hate him. You trust him, but you won’t listen to him. It’s the same way with me. You know I’m always right, but you pretend it’s Donovan who has been taking care of you all these years.”

I should not talk to Carter. I should shut my mind down, the way Wendy has, and look out my window, and pretend that I do not hear the voice of Carter Couture in my head at the most inopportune times.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if she heard me too?”

That would actually not be funny at all.

“I’ve been inside her. I know her mind. But then, he is always there. Trying to put me in my place.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think? Who is she submissive to?”

“Nick?”

“Nick.”

“Nick Tate is in her head?”

“Of course he is. He’s just like me.”

“Just like you how?”

“PSYOPS….”

The word comes out as a whisper, but it’s all contained in my head. So it bounces around in there for a little bit before it actually makes sense.

Nick Tate is PSYOPS?

Holy shit. Is it true?

“Of course it’s true.”

He mindfucked her.

No wonder she listens to him like that!

No wonder he’s always in control!

I open my eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them, and look over at Wendy. She didn’t fall asleep. She’s still staring out the window. Then my eyes wander up to the driver’s seat. To Nicholas Tate. He’s concentrating on the road, the dashboard lights dancing across his face.